


The Only Recipe For Revolution You'll Ever Need

by roachpatrol



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 20:15:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roachpatrol/pseuds/roachpatrol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eridan Ampora is according to primary sources ‘a loser’ and is composed out of alternating layers of ‘fucking awful’ romantic, fashion, and life decisions. Two thirds (2/3) of those elements are not in evidence. The remaining 1/3 element is why you and your co-heistmember are hunkered down in a condemned Chiba City sleeping pod complex, contemplating a significant mutual dearth of pants attribute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Recipe For Revolution You'll Ever Need

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roachpatrol](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roachpatrol/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Only Recipe For Lasagna You'll Ever Need](https://archiveofourown.org/works/182104) by [urbanAnchorite (t_ZM)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/t_ZM/pseuds/urbanAnchorite). 



> Regarding [ this post on tumblr](http://urbananchorite.tumblr.com/post/40676775949/f1x-1t-f1c)
> 
> pT: if I wanted to [make Roach happy] I think I’d [rewrite] The Only Recipe in which Karkat smears the lasagna all over John’s bare chest  
> uA: John’s wearing breeches for some reason  
> Karkat, a tankini  
> pT: John’s wearing 18th-century Prussian military breeches, and epaulets over bare skin and eyeliner  
> uA: also, they’re suddenly during a Troll-fusioned Boer War  
> a cyberpunk Boer War, fought by hypno-wizards  
> pT: the lasagna… is Eridan
> 
> It's cute you guys thought i wouldn't write this for myself.

Eridan Ampora is a tall, unpleasantly heavy highblood troll the exact shade of grape jelly evenly spread over a paving stone. Eridan Ampora is built; apparently ‘just comes like that’. Whether or not he ‘lifts’ is entirely unknown. He is so totally high right now. 

Eridan Ampora is according to primary sources ‘a loser’ and is composed out of alternating layers of ‘fucking awful’ romantic, fashion, and life decisions. Two thirds (2/3) of those elements are not in evidence. The remaining 1/3 element is why you and your co-heistmember are hunkered down in a condemned Chiba City sleeping pod complex, contemplating a significant mutual dearth of pants attribute. 

*

Decide one morning that ‘brew up a rebellion’ should so totally be the motto of your elite cadre of kids who think the trolls suck (not you, Karkat!). Defend self to Rose’s cruel raising of eyebrow: brew, like witches, because your evil overlords are like, magic cyber-wizards and shit, ha ha. Wonder if dudes can be witches. Some of the troll wizards are ladies. Pretty foxy ladies, at that. Submit to audience that gender roles are outdated anyway. Obtain reminder you washed hands very carefully whenever you had to touch anything pink the whole year you were thirteen so you wouldn’t catch a case of ‘the girlies’. Discard reminder. Ignore Karkat’s strangled ‘WHAT?’. Disdain Rose’s completely unfair version of your adolescence with grace and dignity; she does not know you. She cannot judge.

*

How to compose the architect of a revolution: take one highblood virgin. Extract common sense. Scrub away any and all introspection nodules. Compose marinade of nine (9) sweeps simmering resentment, unexamined privilege, and an internet connection rife with hollow promises of ‘hot local singles ready to chat with YOU!!!’. Baste thoroughly in a shallow pan. 

Introduce raw messiah to illegally downloaded experimental neural ghost-imprint technology of one legendary troll hacker (2uckmybiigfatgho2tbraiin.exe). 

* 

A heist is defined by dictionary.com as ‘1. noun, (slang). A robbery or holdup.’ Contemplate grievous error of compilers in neglecting the addendum of ‘2. TOTALLY SWEET!’. Suggest to holdupchum necessity of correction. Receive counter suggestion as to necessity of allowing robberbuddy to remove cyberlinks traumatically and feed them to you. Put correctional plans in the ‘back pocket’. Put hands in the ‘back pocket’. Engage in territory dispute over back pocket vs. hands. Talk shit. Get bit. 

Delegate all plans and also pockets from here on out. 

*

Sollux Captor was, according to primary sources (Karkat Vantas, noted troll defector), ‘a loser’. Enquire as to exact definition of loser. Receive copious assurance as to similarity of own personage. 

Sollux Captor was also the smartest kid in several galaxies but unfortunately not smart enough to keep his gaping yaphole shut about it. Sollux Captor was thoroughly peppered with lasers until done, which according to primary sources probably served him right but is unfortunately very inconvenient for all of you.

Sollux Captor, according to secondary sources (Rose Lalonde, noted human thaumaturge), was also ‘a babe.’ Secondary sources also offer unsolicited addendum to first (unpleasant) judgement, to the effect of how ‘[They] would have hit that like an excruciatingly abusive truck’. Contemplate astonishing narrowness of escape from hitherto unknown hell dimension, ineffable twists and turns of fortune, etc. 

Sollux Captor’s data ghost is currently stuck somewhere in Eridan Ampora’s (allegedly cramped) brain matter. Primary sources / heistpal volubly unhappy. Secondary sources distracted by speculation of hypothetical impactability of Eridan Ampora. Primary sources suggest induced vomiting as only way to maintain dignity. Also sanity. Mentally agree. Lack requisite suicidal tendencies to verbally agree. 

Ingredients for quick exit out of increasingly uncomfortable argument: one fully extended index finger, orientated towards opposite direction of planned escape route. Loud declamation of ‘Wow, a hot ghost wizard is coming through wall!’. 

Run.

*

Receptiveness of conference of troll evil overlords to saucy yet educational dance routines: 100%, if meeting is chaired by Vriska Serket. 

Preparation of salacious yet (reasonably) historically accurate 18th century prussian military officer strip-tease: glitter, way too many tiny buttons, problematic snugness around crotch area, dubious amounts of epaulette, dawning sense of sexual empowerment. Mix well. Shake liberally. Rock out. Lick a troll. Forget that when the music switches from the dubstep remix of _Preußenlied_ to _Hit The Road, Jack_ , you are done. Lick another troll. 

You have never felt so alive. 

Shake ass to _Come On (The New Power Generation)_. Shake ass to _Let’s Go (Trick Daddy)_. Experience dawning realization that there is more to life than body shots and spankings for ‘naughty officers’. Experience deep regret. Shake ass with deep sorrow to _Let’s Bounce (Highschool Musical)_. Make apologies. Make excuses. Lick final troll for the road. 

Haul ass. 

Make rendezvous with scam-mate sans wardrobe change, plus copious lipstick stains, sense of accomplishment. Receive piquant marinade of remonstrations, expletive-laden harangue, bitchfest. Receive clear and unpleasant understanding that certain parties don’t understand you are a modern young man fully in control of sexuality and self-respect. Certain parties need to carry their fair share of Ampora’s evidently lead-lined corpus. Certain parties want to know if you can repeat that last phrase a little louder. Have no desire to repeat that last phrase. Think certain parties heard you just fine the first time. Think certain parties have no business criticizing their partner’s various lifestyle decisions while themselves wearing a tankini. Certain parties wish to make it known that it is a specially assembled stealthsuit for diving through hypnowizard bondage slime. Demand to know which of the two of you volunteered for the part where it was for some reason necessary to put on tiny man-panties and writhe around in a tank of gooey naked boys, and which of you sacked the hell up and licked truly heroic amounts of evil troll boob. Rest your case. 

Karkat’s teeth are very sharp. 

*

Reach safehouse. Safehouse shitty fucking pile of dumbass tubes (own assessment, not any other sources, who are dead to you). Dump Ampora on face and mutually stew in resentment for fifteen minutes at either end of cleanest and least smelly tube. Apply tongue to various abrasions in lieu of adequate medical care. You will die alone and unappreciated. Stir tragic soulpain together with ever-increasing appreciation of own culpability for fracas. Chill. Notice your partner has also chilled. Fold carefully together. 

Offer apology. Receive middle finger. Declare partner ‘so spunky!’, no longer dead to you. Receive double middle fingers. Consider kissing middle fingers. Discard plan as unworkable. He is very dirty. Peel fascinatingly gooey, grit-encrusted sheets of mindslime from partner’s bony legs and arms until partner is reasonable amounts of not angry, like maybe only 4/5ths angry instead of the full angry. 

Get startled by Eridan Ampora when subject decides sitting up fast is good plan of action. Subject is mildly scuffed from transit, not as over various and sundry mind whammies as he thinks he is, is in possession of really dangerous amounts of tossing, panicky horn-tips, is also gooey with dirty slime, and is also totally starkers. Contemplate how Rose is always spooky amounts of right. Subject is very hittable. Share this (completely innocent) observation. Observe interlude of theatrical horking noises from dumb traitor who is now re-dead to you and sudden removal of Eridan’s solid, writhing, kind of enjoyable bare ass from your firm yet gentle restraining hold. Retreat back to end of tube. Contemplate asses. Contemplate trolls. Contemplate trolls’ asses. Contemplate boner: own (neglected), and others’ (hypothetical). 

Suggest making out for warmth. Get disgusted snarl (ex-friend) and groggy cheer (new friend). Propose vote. Win vote, two to one. Prize: dirty, slimy, clammy virgin. You have never been kissed so unpleasantly. It is like mouth-wrestling a very confused slug. Be saved by hero-hombre, who declares Eridan a blight on the universe in general and every sentient lifeform ever hatched in particular. Eridan dragged back by hair. Eridan making sad gargling noises. Eridan singlehandedly confirming existence of troll boners. Thoughtlessly ask Karkat to show Eridan how kissing is done because wow, dang. That was definitely not it. 

Experience long, fraught three-way moment hesitation. Double down on request. Add little ‘go for it’ gestures. Wiggle excitedly. Observe Eridan brushing nose to Karkat’s jaw and Karkat going ‘Hi again, idiot’, in that tone of raw exasperated fondness that belongs to _you, you’re_ his idiot! Eridan unaware of theft of Karkat regard. Eridan looking at Karkat in way that makes him look like dumb purple cow. Eridan going ‘Hi, Kar’, kind of quiet and happy. Karkat leaning in, saying ‘We are so going to regret this when you’re not high’. Eridan going ‘Mmmnh.’ Karkat going ‘No, here, you shitwad, like this’ and demonstrating. 

Karkat is so slow and so tender. Eridan’s eyelashes flutter like in the animes. Everything is terrible. This is the worst possible scenario for your feelings.

Wade in. Demand Karkat kisses for self. Ignore all protests. Claim troll. Are you not a man? Are you not wearing the pants around here? You kiss that troll. You kiss him good. Compliment him on his tankini. Swear you never meant to do him wrong. Kiss his mouth and his nose and his ear. Enjoy Karkat telling you ‘It’s a fucking stealthsuit, god, John, John, fuck, do that again’. Graciously entertain demands from Eridan regarding boner assistance; be assured if assistance is not rendered he will ‘Straight up fuckin’ expire’a sadness, no foolin’’. 

Turn up heat. 

*

Become dimly aware of troll law enforcement converging on your apparently not safe at all safehouse collection of tubes and interspecies debauchery. Be extorted to come out with your hands up and all cyberlink accessories disabled. Be extorted to listen to the increasingly loud and persuasive voices in your heads, that it will be okay, that everything will be okay, that these trolls are your friends and your deaths will quick and painless. This is not reassuring. Your goose is cooked. Your goose is so cooked it’s gone dry and unappealing, not unlike your throat right now.

Have your bacon saved by Rose Lalonde, driving up in an unholy squeal of tires, billowing flame, and spike-enhanced fenders. Rose Lalonde has commandeered a trollish monstertruck. Rose Lalonde is having laser shootout with troll peacekeeping authorities. Rose Lalonde is demanding ‘Get in the car, losers, we’re going to rip these grey [redacted for astonishing amount of cuss words] a new one!’ Karkat is crying with shock and awe. All of you get in said car. 

Watch as Eridan looks Rose up and down. Eridan’s eyes not right. Eridan’s eyes red and blue. Behold Eridan’s smirk: 1/2 cup suave and 1/2 cup smoulder. Envy judicious pinch of perfectly delivered coolguy 'sup?', ever so slightly lisped.

Develop indigestion.

**Author's Note:**

> (thanks to Laylah for the beta)


End file.
